


It's a ME THING

by moonygirl76



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, For S and C because we agreed we need more boxer! Harry in our lives and I live to make them laugh, M/M, Mention of rimming, Miscommunication, Non AU, Panic Attack, because it's non au what do you want from me?, boxer!harry, but really mostly fluff seriously, just for fun, mention of blowjob, mentions of danielle and daniel but no actual danielle or daniel, mentions of zayn but no actual zayn, more like near panic attack, self indulgent, sorry no actual smut don't hate me, supportive Louis, that one is important to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8547139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonygirl76/pseuds/moonygirl76
Summary: Featuring Boxer!Harry and Supportive! (but conflicted) boyfriend Louis.
Harry wants to try his hand in competition boxing over the hiatus. Louis has reservations because Harry is just a baby lamb! And breakable! Miscommunication ensues, but Louis loves Harry and Harry loves Louis and everything is going to be okay.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first posted fanfiction. Be kind. Thanks for reading!
> 
> P.S. I wrote this on word and then cut and pasted and all my formatting is screwed and if anyone wants to clue me in to how to double space this that would be stellar.

   

 

    Niall is talking some shit on the phone, but Louis lost interest about three tics ago when he heard Harry’s Land Rover pull into the garage.

    “Harry’s home. Love ya!” Louis yells before hitting END and charging toward the mud room. Bit rude, but Niall will forgive him. Because it’s Niall and because _Harry is home!_

    His socks slide on the polished veneer of the floor and he ends up falling against the door in a fit of giggles, just as Harry is trying to push the door in. He gets his balance enough to get out the way of the door and pull Harry the rest of the way in by a handful of hoodie.

    His mouth is on Harry’s before the other can even say hello. Before Harry can hang up his keys, Louis already climbing him like a tree and it’s all Harry can do but hold on to him—which he does with maybe more fervor than necessary, squeezing two handfuls of Louis’ bum.

    “Love, slow down.” Harry is trying to speak. Why is he speaking? Louis sinks his hands into those lovely locks and kisses him harder. But as Harry moves them through the entryway Louis forgets that he’s trying to prevent speech and goes to suck on that favorite places of his below Harry’s right ear.

    "Ung,” Harry says, and maybe that’s working alright too. “I need to shower.”

    “No. No shower,” Louis mumbles, refusing to move his lips from Harry’s neck. “I love how you smell after you’ve been play fighting.”

    Harry giggles. “Sparring, Lou. You know it’s sparring.” He sets Louis down on his feet. That just won’t do. He keeps his arms latched around Harry’s neck so Harry has to drag Louis, socks sliding toward the stairs. But the smile on Harry’s face tells him he still has a chance.

    “What if. We shower. Together. _After_.” Then he pulls Harry down toward him, and latches on to that spot again, using both tongue and teeth to further his argument.

    He feels Harry’s Adam’s Apple bob and he let’s out the faintest of sounds and—

    Then next thing Louis knows he is upside down over Harry’s shoulder and Harry is running up the stairs. And how even? But God Bless Harry’s trainer.

    Yes. Shower after.

 

<3 <3 <3

 

    It’s gone dinnertime by the time they are out of the shower and ordering delivery. Louis finds his phone between two cushions in the couch. Niall has texted Louis three times. The first, a question mark. The second, calling him a wanker, and the third telling him to say hello to harry. Louis smiles. Good ol’ Niall.

    A few shortish games of Candy Crush later, Harry is bringing in the pizza, plates, and two beers. “Thanks, Love,” Louis tells him. He’s two pieces in when he realizes that Harry has only nibbled on his first slice. And he has that look.

    That look that he gets when he has to say something difficult. Something that might hurt. Because there’s nothing that his Hazza hates more than hurting people. And conflict. And Mean People. And Sea World.

    Louis stalls a bit. This might be about those socks that he didn’t pick up yesterday. Even after Harry asked him so nicely. But then Oli had dropped by and FIFA had ensued and well, he’s pretty sure he saw them on the bathroom floor when they got out of the shower tonight.

    “I’m sorry,” he says. Because his mum told him once that he tends to hold on to his sorrys. And he never wants to be like that with Harry.

    Harry stills.

    “About the socks? I’ll pick them up as soon as we finish din.”

    Harry sets his slice down and wipes his hands on his napkin.

    “I could do it now?” Louis asks, but he’s starting to think this is not about the socks. Maybe it’s about Oli. During FIFA Oli had made that joke about the woman he’s been seeing. Harry loves Oli, but always gives Louis _that look_ when Oli makes one of those sexist jokes. Louis is sure it’s just banter. He thinks the ginge might actually be falling for this one. But he’s not going down with Oli.

    He opens his mouth to throw Oli under the bus when Harry speaks. “I think I want to try to compete in boxing. Like a match. Like a real match? And Ronnie thinks I have improved tons since we started training and now, with the band on hiatus and the film wrapped and BabyGate all but done I think I’d like this to be my next Me Thing.”

    And that was a lot of words. A lot for anyone. But a War and Peace type novel for Harry, who is usually quite thoughtful and sparing with his words. _Me Thing._ They often talk about how, over the break, it’s important for each of them to have a Me Thing. Aside and apart from the _One Direction Thing_. Louis has been working on his talent development. Some of it on the low, and some of it for the media and the deal they have going with Simon, then dirty rat-handed bastard, as part of their get out of Sony while they are young deal.

    Matches. Competition. And what?

    “What?” he says. “I mean. I heard you. And I get the Me Thing. But you’ve only ever sparred with Ronnie?”

    Harry slides back on the leather of the chair and folds his hands on his knees. He doesn’t break eye contact, but he does look . . . sheepish. And Louis realizes that this is not about Louis doing something wrong. The difficult apart of this conversation is that Harry has done something he perceives as wrong.

    And Louis can’t stand that look all of a sudden. Because all Louis can think is I probably _did_ do something wrong if he couldn’t come to me. If he had to do something behind my back it’s because I made him feel he couldn’t talk to me.

    “Love?” Louis reaches out and clasps Harry’s wrist and tugs once. Harry comes without resistance and while Harry is all limbs and has long since been too big to fit in Louis lap and, lets be honest, maybe he was always too big to fit in Louis lap, he feels small to Louis. Makes himself small. Tucked up against Louis chest, looking up at him with those stunning green orbs.

    “What’s going on, Love?” he asks again. And this time it all comes out.

    Harry has been sparring with several blokes, and a couple of gals at the gym. Mostly last month when Louis was traveling a lot. Stunt trip with Danielle (nightmare), trip home for a family birthday (lovely, but lonely without Harry), and that lads weekend to Vegas (spent babysitting Oli and talking to Harry on the phone).

    Harry assures Louis that he wore the proper head/face protection and mouth gear and no, Louis wasn’t an idiot for not knowing that Harry had been roughed up and taking ice packs to bed and hot baths in the morning. How could he? He was gone traveling more than he was home.

    But Harry assures him that the injuries were minor, mostly soreness, and that if Louis himself was contributing to that pain he would have told him.

    “But I’m good, Lou,” Harry says. “They tell me I’m good.” He takes a minute to formulate, and Louis waits, knowing how Harry hates when people cut him off. “Not just in the Harry Styles yes-man approach. Ronnie came to me. He didn’t have to. I mean, I was just paying him to keep me fit. But he said to me, that he thought I could, you know, compete.”

   This is a bad idea. But Louis cannot tell him this is a bad idea. So someone else surely will tell him this is a bad idea.

    “Have you talked to Jeff?” he asks carefully, thinking surely their manager, and one of Harry’s close friends, will steer him clear of something so self destructive.

    “Jeff can’t say anything about this. He handles things we ask him to handle. Music business stuff. This isn’t music business. This is my business. My new Me Thing.” And it sounds like he’s already made his mind up.

    Me Thing. And who is Louis to stand in the way? He looks down at that perfect face, and those perfect hands, but he knows that he loves Harry’s spirit and soul and heart, and everything that makes up Harry more than he loves his appearance, and would love him despite his appearance possibly becoming marred. And even if the thought of any jack ass wanker touching one hair on Harry’s perfectly coiffed head made him want to maim, he would have to stand back on this one because this was what was going to make Harry happy.

    “What can I say? I’ll be in the front row cheering you on.”

    And the look on his baby’s face right then, it was worth it. It would be worth it.

 

 

<3 <3 <3

 

    This was not worth it. How could he be worth it?

    Harry had a black eye and Louis was going to have to kill someone.

    “You’re not going to kill anyone, Lou.” And fuckshit, he had said that out loud.

    Oli handed an ice pack to Harry. “It was awesome, Tommo. Harry takes the hit like a champ and then comes back with these body shots. Boom boom boom,” he demonstrates, miming like he’s gonna do it to Harry and NO.

    Louis puts a hand to Oli’s chest and strong arms him away from Harry. “Don’t you have a home, Oli? Friends? I could pay Daniel and Danielle to hang out with you without me?”

    “Don’t be mean, Lou,” Harry says. “At least he’s been coming to support me.”

    And _oh_. That hurts. Because Louis has tried. “I’ve tried!” he tells Harry, “It’s just that my life is very busy with . . . waiting for fake paternity tests and meeting with fake layers and going on fake dates with Danielle . . . and Oli and Daniel.” Because he’s still caught in the limbo of that hell. Even though the suits promise him every day that the green light is coming to axe both Baby Gate and Danielle . . . Gate.

    “And yet Oli has found time to be at four of my practice sessions.”

    Louis hates Oli.

    Oli must sense his hate because he suddenly has to go. He gives Harry a hug and Louis the finger on the way out. And Louis would like to spend more time planning something evil to get even with Oli. Like that time he switched the contacts in Liam’s phone so “Mum” dialed Sophia and “Princess Sophia” dialed his Mum. Liam was epic levels of mad. As if it was Louis’ fault Liam decided to send his first dick pic the very day. (Even if Louis did get Liam drunk and dare Liam to do it). Nor was it his fault that Liam’s mum, bless her, sent back a cheeky note saying “Thanks, love. But I’ve seen your willy, Liam. And now your sister has too.” That was _ace._ But he needed to push all that aside. And focus. Because.

    Harry is frowning. A curse on his life. Harry’s sadness is unbearable.

    “Want me to get ice cream?” he asks him, because that was easier than talking about how Oli was a better friend than he was boyfriend.

    “No. I mean, yes. I want ice cream. But I also wanted you to come see me practice. The first match is already Saturday.”

    “Saturday?” And his voice comes out high and frantic. He maybe freaking out. Because that is only three days away. Three days before he sees Harry mauled before his very eyes. Because Harry is a baby dear. He is a lamb. He is a noodle. It’s not so much about his face, but he loves that perfect face, but again Louis is too small and delicate to go to jail for killing Harry’s opponent. Which is the only scenario he can imagine. He’s a selfish bastard on all counts. There. He’s said it. Or thought it. Because there is only silence in the kitchen. And Harry is still frowning.

    In fact, if it’s possible, Harry frowns harder. “I sent you a Google alert. With stars.”

    And Louis loves Harry. Loves him with everything he is and has. And, well, he will in fact go to jail if he needs to. Or he will get Niall and Liam to come to the match to hold him back. Not Oli. He hates Oli. At least today he hates Oli.

    Louis moves in between Harry’s legs where he sits on the counter and touches his cheek gently with two fingers, just beneath the bruise. And with his mouth just centimeters from Harry’s he coos. “I’ll be there, Love.” He pecks his lips. “With bells on.” He kisses him again, with more. “And an I heart H.S. shirt.”

    Harry is smiling now. Like, don’t you dare, but if you do I will laugh and love you even more. Louis needs to call his sister to make him a shirt on one of those Press sites and get it shipped overnight. But right now, he just needs to kiss his boy. On that purple bruise. And on his perfect mouth. And everywhere. And tell him that he loves him. So he does.

 

<3 <3 <3

 

    Louis was nervous. Like, sweating bullets knuckle cracking nervous on the way home. Until he sees Harry.

    It’s the night before the match. Louis had missed the final practice today because he had to go fake grocery shopping with Danielle (and Oli and Daniel). He _had_ to today. Even though maybe it could have been next week.

    Anyway, he’s nervous because the match is tomorrow and he’s missed the last practice kinda sorta by accident (on purpose) because he’s can’t bear it. But then he sees Harry. And all thoughts of his own anxiety fly out the window because Harry looks emotionally wrecked. He looks like he did when they told him he’d have to kiss Taylor fucking Swift on the mouth on New Years, or when they got that group text from fucking _Zayn_ that he was boarding a plane home in the middle of the fucking tour. He looks like he did in that meeting when they decided that with Zayn out, Louis would be the one to shoulder the Baby Stunt. Harry, sitting on the floor in front of his computer screen watching what looked like training clips, was on the verge of a panic attack.

    Louis grabs the blanket from off the back of the couch and wraps it around Harry’s shoulders before sinking down to the floor and pulling Harry on to his lap. Harry’s eyes are unfocused before he buries his face in Louis’ neck, hot breathes coming out in pants.

    Rubbing Harry’s back in slow circles, Louis reminds him to breathe, then reaches out with the other hand to shut down Harry’s laptop. When Harry’s breathing finally slows, and the neck of Louis’ shirt moist with the humidity of Harry’s breath and possibly some tears, Louis apologizes.

    “I’m a shitty boyfriend, Love. I was so wrapped up with how nervous I was to see you fight, that I didn’t stop to think that you might be nervous too.”

    “Why are you nervous?” Harry asks, bringing his chin up to face Louis. And yes those are tear tracks on his cheeks. Louis wipes them with his thumb.

    “Why _wouldn’t_ I be nervous? Facing the possibility that you could be hurt makes me want to eat glass.”

    Harry’s face is scrunched up in confusion. “I’m not worried about getting hurt. Or even losing. I mean, I am, but I’m more afraid that I’ll be so bad that I’ll embarrass myself. Embarrass Ronnie. Embarrass you.”

    "Embarrass _me_?” Louis is so taken aback that he almost tips Harry off his lap. “How is that even a thing?”

    “I thought that’s why you didn’t want to come see me. Because you were sure I was bad. Like that I’m just a baby deer and all that. Maybe everyone was just humoring me.”

    Louis feels immediately chastised. “Oh, Hazza. You _are_ a baby dear. And a noodle. And I couldn’t possible find that more endearing. Doesn’t embarrass me. Like how you love that I have a potty mouth and that I called you a ‘curly haired cunt’ in front of the future king of our great land.”

    Harry rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a smile. “I don’t very much love that at all.”

    Louis boops his nose. “Pish posh. I also know that you do not throw yourself into something unless you know you can give it your best go. Performing in front of crowds? Acting? Football? Well, we’re still working on that one, eh?”

    “Beckham says—”

    “Don’t you talk to me about Beckham!” Louis screeches.

    Harry giggles into Louis’ neck.

    “I’d come cheer you on in a knitting round robin, winner takes all blue ribbon contest.”

    “That’s not a—?”

    “I’d come watch you do a 5k even if you were dead last.”

    “Heeeey. I’m actually good at running!”

    "I’d watch you do anything you want to do whether you were good at it or still learning. I love you. But it’s hard for me to see you hurt. Physically or emotionally. But I know that this time it was me that hurt you. So I’m sorry for making you feel like I didn’t have confidence in you. I do.”

    Harry smiles. “Thank you, Lou.”

    “But I’m going to miss that smile if you get your teeth knocked asunder.”

    “Shut up.”

    “Wanna watch that training video? Together?”

    “No. But you just gave me a chubby by asking.”

    “Really? Gets you hot when I’m a supportive spouse?”

    Harry moans. It’s a cheat because Louis knows how hot that word gets Harry. He slides his hand between Harry’s legs and gives him a gentle squeeze. “How about you let your future husband give you a blowie right here in the sitting room and then I run you a hot bath? Have you tip top for your match hmm?”

    Harry swallows once, then nods. Louis nods along with him swallowing the moan Harry emits when he gives him another squeeze.

 

<3 <3 <3

 

    Harry heads over to the gym early to prepare and Louis is pleased when an hour later his package arrives with three T-shirts emblazed with I LOVE H.S. on the front for him, Liam and Niall. Sizes Small, Medium and Medium respectively. Louis tears the tag off of his. (Because it’s itchy! Not because he’s sensitive about his stature thank you very much.) Harry is billed for the fight under the name Harvey Stockholm, and the fight is to be held at a small gym in North Hollywood with mostly friends and family. No advertising or media. Small time. No fans. But still, he and Liam and Niall take separate cars. And wear low brimmed Cubs hats and sunglasses that Harry bought for them especially. “for good luck” or whatever? His boyfriend is a strange and wonderful alien.

    The venue is packed and Louis panics for a minute thinking that something has been leaked, but he reads the program through and realized that Harry’s is not the only fight of the evening. Louis buys a beer and two Nachos Grande (no he’s not going to share, Leeyum get your own) and makes his way up the bleachers when he spots Liam, under his Cubs hat, grinning like a puppy. Niall is on his phone but he puts it away when Louis sits down.

    “Alright, Tommo?”

    “Yeah. I’m alright, Nialler. Just, you know the drill. Hold me back and all that.”

    “Gonna be great, I reckon. Looked quite fit in practice yesterday,” Liam puts in.

    Louis stares at him. “You went to practice?”

    "I went too,” Niall says, almost regretfully, like he just knows this is a sore subject.

    There’s no use going on about it, he’s already beat himself up with the guilt so instead he gives Liam his best glare. “Did you just call Harry fit?”

    Liam looks like he just shat himself and is re-evaluating his entire existence before Louis lets him off the hook. “Of course he’s fit! Fittest boy out there!” Louis tells him, ignoring the people in front of him that have turned around to stare. “Now put your damn shirts on.”

 

<3 <3 <3

 

    Louis gets through the next couple fights mostly with copious amounts of beer, enough nachos to put a lesser man into a cheese coma and . . . mostly hiding behind Liam. But no one needs to know that.

    "Stop hiding! Harry’s next,” Liam yells at him.

    “Rude! I wasn’t hiding. I dropped something behind you, Leeyum.”

    Then the announcer drowns out whatever Liam is saying back. Something about welterweight? And greenhorn? “The British Baby” Harvey Stockholm!”

    And then the nachos and beer and hiding are all forgotten and they are on their feet, Louis on his tip-toes and clutching to Liam’s shoulder, but again, no one needs to know that.

    And Harry is . . . well, Harry is gorgeous. Which Louis was already well aware of. But he’s also graceful, and athletic. His feet! It’s like he’s dancing. And Louis has known Harry long enough that dancing has never bee- a forte of any of the band. Especially Zayn. Fucking _Zayn_.

    The punches seem to glance off Harry, and he seems to get in two for every one the other guy gets in. Now, Louis no sporting expert, but it seems like Harry is winning!

    “He’s winning!” Liam yells.

    “Of course he’s fookin’ winnin’ ya tit!” Louis yells back, and the row in front of him turns to look again, but Louis has zero shits to give because that’s his boyfriend! Out there! Winning!

    And he yells out loud “GO HARRY!”

    And oops! Because now his boyfriend is out there, looking back at him. And then the guy he’s fighting sucker punches him in the jaw and Harry goes down like a sack of Irish potatoes. (Sorry, Niall.)

    Louis is halfway down the aisle and he can hear Liam and Niall’s voices behind him but all he can focus on is getting into the ring to Harry. Two very burly men hold him back and he can only watch helplessly as the ref smacks the mat next to Harry’s head. At least now he can see that, while bleary, his eyes are open. Finally the ref gets to three, or ten, or a thousand for all it seems to Louis and the burly boys release him and he is climbing up and Ronnie is holding open the ropes for him to go through, then follows close behind with the medic.

    “Harry?” Louis calls out as he sinks to his knees.

    “Don’t touch his neck!” The medic yells, and he doesn’t need to yell because of course he was certainly probably not going to touch his neck.

    Harry takes a couple tics to focus on Louis. And then he’s most surely concussed because the idiot smiles at Louis. “Louis,” he says. And thank God for small favors, at least he knows who he is. That’s a good sign? “Louis,” he says again, but it’s so quiet, Louis can only understand that he’s said his name because he can see the familiar shape his lips take. Louis leans his ear close to hear, even as the camera flashes are going off, and someone has yelled LARRY (oops) and who he assumes is the medic is tapping not so gently on his arm.

    "Louis _. I did it_ ,” Harry says.

    Because it wasn’t about winning or losing. It was doing his Me Thing. Seeing it through, and doing himself and everyone else proud. And thankfully, at least for now he isn’t mad at Louis either. So there’s that.

    “You did, babe. And I couldn’t be more proud,” Louis tells them. Then Ronnie is pulling him back and letting the medic ease off Harry’s helmet, slip on a neck brace, shine a light in Harry’s eyes and ask him whatever it is he’s asking. Then Harry’s eyes find Louis again and he smiles again. And he’s gorgeous. And he’s going to have a nasty bruise on his jaw, but at lease he has all his teeth.

 

<3 <3 <3

    Victory drinks are at Home (yes that’s right, Home is capitalized when referring to the Tomlinson-Styles House) and everyone raises a glass except poor Harry who does in fact have a slight concussion, but is on very good meds and still has a smile on his face and his head in Louis lap on the couch.

    Oli has shown up, and of course he was at the match because otherwise Louis would kick his ass or find a way to get even like that time he talked Zayn into getting a Yin Yang tattoo because of something mean he said to Harry and now he and Harry laugh about it because what a cliché bullshit tattoo. Fucking _Zayn_.

    After everyone leaves and Louis has settled Harry into bed, Harry turns to Louis and says, “I know what my next My Thing is going to be.”

    And Louis is frankly terriefied. But he loves his boy and wants him to be happy.

    “What’s that, Love?” Louis asks.

    “Getting the band back together.”

    Louis smiles and is about to answer when his phone buzzes on the side table. It’s a text from the suits that reads. IT IS DONE

    And tomorrow the fake negative paternity will come out after a long and embroiled fake court battle, at the assistance of the fake lawyers. And then Danielle and Daniel can finally be together and have gigantic babies with shapely legs.

    “I think that’s going to be my next Me Thing too, babe,” Louis tells him.

    And then they make love and get three orgasms a piece, one each specifically from rimming, and they profess their love as they lie naked holding each other, with the moonlight shining in through the window. And they are happy.


End file.
